Cry of the iron
by Last-Summoner
Summary: Giriko/Justin, Giriko's POV. Their first, second and last meetings. Just something I felt like I want to publish. Beware of language, violence, blood, thoughts about death and sex and some other things I may forgot to mention - -'


**A/N: _Okay... I haven't been publishing since 2007 or something like that, so I'm a little nervous. I was writing this fic about two or even three weeks, a couple of sentences per day. This is my very-very first Giriko/Justin, so I'm very glad it was at last finished and published. ^^ _**

**_Need to warn you - it's a YAOI fanfiction, so be carefull. It also contains violence, thoughts about death and sex, and lots of blood. Beware! *you know, I never wrote something that violent before=_- Still don't know how to think of it* I also apologies for any gramma or other mistakes you can find. I worked with 3 dictionaries on it, but there still must be some mistakes left, because I'm not perfect in English (even if I wish to). _**

**_Ok-kay... Here it is))  
_**

Cry of the iron.

What can I say about him?

Oh, he was fucking good in fighting. Maybe even as good as me. Well, he's one of those Deathscythes after all. He's name's Justin.

I liked to think about him. Especially I liked the idea after our first challenge, which was so roughly interrupted... No, after our second battle I thought about him even more. Oh, I really liked to imagine him. I wanted him. To take him, again and again and again, until we're both half-dead. To bite him. To take that damn earphone thing out of his pretty little ears...

I enjoyed the days of my wishful freedom that started with our confrontation. I hated being someone I'm not, and I hated being myself just a little less. Yes, I enjoyed myself like nothing else in this bloody eight hundred years. I destroyed, then drink, sleep with some girl and drink again. And I never was full, like a black bottomless hole...

Shit, I was really really crazy son of a bitch! And, shit, I wanted him. Thoughts about us being so close with our bodies gave me almost physical pleasure. I imagine how I'll roll him on his stomach and bite vertebrae bulging on his back. I wonder, how his skin will taste, and most of the time it tasted like expensive whiskey I got from Arachne's servants. Sometimes I imagined him killing me, or myself killing him, and, as I saw visions of his unconscious body in my trembling hands, his cold slightly opened lips, dead earphones, bubbling something in thick paper air, his eyes like glass balls facing nowhere, the absolute feeling overtook me.

I was insane, mad, crazy, blood thirsty. Shit, I wanted to kill, and nothing could fulfill my intend. Maybe even him...

Did I love him? Fuck, what a ridiculous thought! Of course not! That's out of question. I could only hate. And he, that shitty bastard of Shibusen, could only love. Yeah, we fitted each other perfectly, but it wasn't that pathetic romantic feeling. I just wanted his body, his blood, his skin... Those damn earphones... And he just wanted my soul, I guess. Yes, maybe he _did _love me in that way. But it was beyond something normal.

Our second battle - how it was? Incredible! I wish I could enjoy him more, but something always interrupted us, and that drove me crazy. He too drove me crazy so easily, tickling my nerves with that offensive tone of his. Yeah, my hit, his hit, my hit, his hit, then we talked. Looks like he revealed my plan of taking off his earphones. Man, how he enraged me! I wanted to cut him open and eat snow mixed with his blood.

I didn't want to take it easy on him; at least we both had a little respect to each other. He hit me with some powerful thing, just like he himself, but it didn't kill me, almost accidentally didn't, and I almost wished it can, but only after I see him in my hands, blood thirsty hands...

I dug in the snow and quickly generated a golem. He saw that thing and sprang at it, cutting it in two beautiful halves. I saw his eyes in the second before and second after. When the snow body fell apart there were almost despair and regret. Like if he had at last did what he wanted to, but then realized just _what happened, what he'd destroyed. _But he quickly got the chance to regain his consciousness. When he saw it was just snow. Shit, how I wanted him back then. Drag him down in the snow and let it fell all over our entwined bodies, tickling it like sharp knifes, millions of knifes. And take that merciful Shibusen bastard, mercilessly. But I didn't want to end it there. We needed to meet again.

So we parted. Again. Desire almost tore me apart. And he...

His name's Justin Law.

Before our last meeting I desired he would have dark, violent dreams. About me. I nearly wished to be killed, only by him, and, in a second before, to pounce on him, reach him with all my being and bite his defenseless throat.

Man, how he turned me on...

Our last meeting? Oh, yeah, I couldn't dream of more. We met at the snowy cliff at the Island were we got our hands on Brew. He walked, wrapping himself up in a thin coat, making his way through the snow to the edge of the cliff. His shapely legs left thin trails in the white, his blond strands fluttered in the cold air, and grayish torned clouds of breath escaped his hot, humid lips. His glance hardened as he saw me. I told him something offensive enough to show him how I wanted to fight. He turned on so easily that it nearly burned me from the inside, and I couldn't get rid of it more simply then with fighting, and screaming, and using all the words of curse I used to know. It went on, as our fair moves cut the icy air, following each other, forming a perfect composition. He was good at fighting, maybe just as good as me.

He dragged me to the very edge of cliff. His music, heard even though it was only in earphones, pricked my head. I gave him a punch in the ear. He twitched on my move and, for a tiny moment, lost his temp. I quickly took advantage and tried to slice him, but he dodged my attack, so I cut through the ground. The edge cracked, nearly groaning. The snow rustled. Ground went down sharply, and we both went down with it.

Fuck, I thought. Shit.

The air was very thick, as we dug through it. Justin's robe went up, showing his pretty shapely legs, dressed in tight pants. I lost a precious second giving them a look. That priest bastard was attractive. At least in my point of view, and any other points never interested me.

I tried to reach the remaining cliff ground with my chains, but useless, only indifferent snow fell in my face. Law tried one of his tricks on it too, but to no avail. We continued to fall. The ground came closer and closer, and I quickly thought that I can reduce the damage by turning into saw, when something happened. He, my opponent, my enemy, my imaginary wishful single-time partner did something that made me hate him even more. Even more then being myself. Maybe even more, then being someone I'm not.

I felt like I was grabbed by the sleeve, then attracted and held. I heard a faint scent of either and saw black and grey robe, quivering like a dying heart. He embraced me, catching hold of my jacket, for a second I saw his tightened lips.

And then we hit the ground. More exactly, his back hit the ground, cold, solid and rocky, and my body crushed into his, soft and hot. I heard his sharp cry meet my own, and then we both fell silent.

Seemed like I lost consciousness for a minute or two. My left hand lied against my body, broken. I tried to move it and bit my lip when the pain came. Fuck, there was something with my left leg too. The pain in my body was almost relieving.

Besides me, lied he. He breathed heavily, his head lied buried in snow, his arm rested on my chest, and he didn't even try to move. His earphones didn't work any more.

I crippled closer and leaned to his face, listening as he breathed noisily. I took a closer look on his earphones - one was practically smashed into pieces that stuck into his ear. With little glaring black shivers and motley wires plaited in his ear, it looked like grotesque decoration. That was the one I hit. Another one seemed to remain whole, and I took it to my ear - it was silent. I fell in the snow besides him again.

- Why?...

It took me a second to catch my breath.

- Why have you... Done it?

He didn't answer, didn't even look at me, just as I expected of him. I leaned closer, buried my head in snow near his shoulder, and groaned:

- I didn't ask you.

Somehow I felt like helpless. Was helpless there, hanging in the air like a flag. Was helpless lying in the snow near the one who sacrificed himself for his enemy. And he used it, used it against me, so easily making me owe him. Ferocity unexpectedly quickly overtook me as that words escaped my mouth. Yes, he didn't have any right to save me like that, in so pathetic way. He didn't have the fucking right to save me at all! I could've turn into saw and reduce the damage, but he suddenly wanted to cover me with his fragile little body, and now my arm is broken, my leg is probably broken too, and he's lying there like a fucking corpse! I wanted to kill him right in that moment. I heavily sat and grabbed him by the neck with my healthy arm.

- How did you dare to touch me, you noisy bastard?

He moaned silently to my touching, held my hand weakly with his hands. He was in pain, just as I wanted him to be. I shook his body, furiously, and he gritted his teeth trying to tolerate. He gave me a strange look then, still trying to sit, leaning on my hand. I wanted him to stop me from feeling, and I smashed his pretty little body with shapely legs and thin strong arms with fingers like white paper slices in the ground. He coughed painfully and thankfully lost his senses. Snow under his back was dark red.

As anger left me, I decided to at least look at him. He was lying in the white, with his hands spread like if he was laughing hysterically. For a moment I thought that he passed.

I threw myself to him, leaned against him, and pressed my ear against his chest. First I only felt something bulging from his chest - he probably got some ribs broken very badly, but then I heard a faint sound and feeling of his heart still beating. I sighed and let my head rest on his collarbone, hating and despising myself for feeling relief.

It was hard to act with only one hand, and I tried to help myself with the broken one, as I lifted him from the ground. His slightly opened eyes were like glass balls, facing nowhere. His earphones were dead. His lips were pale. Snow underneath him will certainly taste like his blood.

My hand was trembling.

I leaned closer, hanging above his face, and closed his eyes. Then I traced my lips on his skin lower and kissed him.

Kissed him.

Kissed him.

It was like my wet delusions exactly. Only without that awful whiskey aftertaste.

First I tasted only his lips, I bit them, licked them, embraced them with my own, and I felt that I'll never be full of him. Then I got my tongue between his teeth and into his mouth, deeper and deeper, exploding him, roughly, lustfully, moving in and out, in and out, leaving trails of saliva on his chin. He tasted so unbelievably good. I was satisfied by proving my power to him.

I wiped his mouth, slowly tracing my thumb on his swollen lips. He was somehow beautiful. He was still unconscious.

I gritted my teeth, biting my tongue, filling my mouth with heavily aftertaste of bloody whiskey, as I took his body in my hands. My broken arm hurt so fucking much I could hardly stand it. I carried most of his weight on my healthy arm, fixed his head on my shoulder, placed my broken one to hold his legs. His face touched my neck, his skin smelled fairly, his lips was hot after me. If his blooded ribs weren't bulging from his chest, poking his skin like knife pokes paper, if my arm was at least not that broken, I would take him right there. And in that moment I won't care if he's conscious or not.

But no. He was lying in my broken hands with ribs like needles stuck in pin-cushion, as I was trying to stand up, painfully like never before in this eight hundred years.

My leg hurt like fucking hell and wasn't going to move, and it took time and lots of nerves and pain and strength to stand up and walk. I was standing in snow up to the knees, it was scarlet, vividly scarlet from blood, and will definitely taste like blood, mine, his, difference won't be felt. I groaned as I made my first step. My legs are not as shapely as his, and they left wide clumsy trails as I nearly crept forward. If there was only any breath left for me to talk, I would use the dirtiest words I know to address him. His body in my hands trembled as I fell on one knee in the snow. The sky turned in pulsing violet sea. Slowly, like in an old movie, I fell on the side in pulsing vividly colored snow. Before the pain turned the world off, I assured he was lying on his back so his ribs are not hurt, and his face wasn't buried in snow so he could breath.

His name is Justin Law. He is the most important man in this world to me. My only dream is to see him every day, so I can tell him just how much I hate him. Even more then I hate myself. Even more then I hate someone I'm not.


End file.
